


Stars May Collide

by Sundance201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Inspired by Moulin Rouge!, Mistaken Identity, Penis In Vagina Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Secret affairs, Vaginal Fingering, for molly anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/pseuds/Sundance201
Summary: Molly Hooper was just a simple heiress, longing for the Bohemian lifestyle and to experience a grand love story in Paris. Sherlock Holmes worked at the Moulin Rouge and didn't long for much at all, except maybe his next high. Will love prevail between the two of them, come what may?
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 59
Kudos: 57





	1. An Introduction to the Players

**Author's Note:**

> It's the Moulin Rouge AU that I've been threatening for literal years. It's here. :P I've had so much fun writing this and I hope that you have equally as much fun reading it. I'm still not sure if I'm completely happy with it, but I've been itching to get something new out there into the world during this time and this was the story that was calling to me.

Molly grinned broadly as she sat in her shoddy one room flat. It was a far cry from the posh country estate that she’d grown up on, but that’s what she loved about it. She’d felt suffocated in that world. But now she was in Paris: the very center of the Bohemian lifestyle that she found so interesting and inspiring, the city of Love itself. She was already mad for it.

Humming happily to herself, she started to unpack her bags, carefully pulling out her prized typewriter. Her father had always encouraged her writing, but her mother had scoffed, thinking that she should devote her time to more ladylike endeavors like needlepoint or drawing. She sat down at her little table and cracked her knuckles happily, placing her hands over the keys.

Oh dear.

She sighed and slumped in her seat. She had been afraid of this. As much as she loved reading about love and dreaming about what it would be like to love someone so passionately…she had never experienced it for herself. How could she possibly expect to write about love when she had absolutely no experience with it? There had been that one time while she was on summer holiday and Thomas, the head butler’s son, had visited…but that was nothing more than an infatuation. It certainly wasn’t the all-consuming, soul-crushing, desperate sort of love that she loved to read about – the sort of love that mattered more than anything in the world. That was the sort of love she wanted to write about…and experience for herself.

Her front door flying open quickly jerked her out of her head and back into the present moment. There was a group of very loud, very colorful people suddenly crowding into her flat and Molly’s jaw dropped open.

It was obvious that these people invading her space were fellow Bohemians. Real, live Bohemians. Molly nearly screeched with excitement.

One of them suddenly paused in the rapid fire chatter that had been going on and looked at her curiously. “Who’re you?” the blonde woman asked.

Molly straightened up and took a deep breath. “I’m Molly. Molly Hooper. And…who are you? And why are you in my flat?”

The blonde’s eyes widened and she turned to the grey-haired man next to her, raising an eyebrow in silent communication. “Your flat? It’s been empty for ages, we’ve been using it for rehearsals. So sorry to intrude!”

The people started filing out and Molly jumped from her seat. “Wait! No! Don’t go! You’re actors, correct? I’m a writer. I’d…I’d love to see what you’re rehearsing!”

The woman turned fully to Molly and smiled. She walked over and placed her hands on Molly’s shoulders, briefly kissing her on both cheeks. “A writer, really? Well, Molly Hooper, I’m Mary Morstan and that man over there is Greg Lestrade. And that’s Sally and Sarah and Dimmock and Billy.” Molly nodded and tried desperately to remember the names that Mary had just rattled off. “We actually just lost our writer….went a bit off the deep end, Phillip did.” A coy smile spread across Mary’s face. “Would you like to see what we have so far?”

Molly grinned and nodded excitedly. “Oh yes!”

For the next half hour, Molly sat and watched in awe as the troupe of actors and singers and dancers (and one strange man who simply sat in the corner and wore a funny hat) entertained her with their little play. Or at least…..random scenes from what should have been a play. There wasn’t a clear plotline that Molly could follow, but she enjoyed the performance anyway.

When Greg finally called “scene,” Mary hopped up on Molly’s rickety little table and crossed her legs, smiling brightly at Molly. “Well? What did you think? Would you want to join us?”

“Join you?” Molly managed to squeak out.

“As our writer!” Greg chimed in, smiling charmingly at her. “I know we haven’t even seen your writing yet, but we like the look of you. You look like a romantic.”

Molly nodded eagerly. “I am! I am a romantic! There’s nothing more important in the world than love!”

Mary and Greg shared a knowing look and a smile. Mary hopped off the table and grabbed Molly’s hands, pulling her up. “So you’ll be our writer?”

“Of course!”

“Good!” Mary wrapped her arm around Molly and started moving towards the door. “Let’s go celebrate then! The Moulin Rouge!”

Greg chuckled. “So you’re on speaking terms with John again?”

Mary waved a hand carelessly. “More or less. He’ll love this idea, especially with a new writer attached. The Duchess will fund the transformation of the Rouge into a proper theater and we’ll be in the resident company!”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Wait…what?”

Mary giggled and she grabbed Molly’s hand, dragging her out of the flat. “I’ll explain everything, don’t you worry!”

* * *

Molly was quite certain that her eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider than they already were. The Moulin Rouge was so much more than the “den of iniquity and prostitution” that her mother had referred to it as – it felt finally like the real world. It wasn’t nice and tidy like the reception halls in London, it was loud and colorful and it smelled funny but Molly loved it. As they watched the can-can dancers, Mary explained the situation to Molly.

John, Mary’s sometimes lover, was the owner of the Moulin Rouge. He had aspirations of turning it into a legitimate theater, with Mary and her friends as the permanent company. They apparently had a star as well, one Sherlock Holmes. He did a bit of an act at the Moulin Rouge, but it wasn’t like any of the other acts. They called him a chameleon, said that he could turn into anyone perfectly and reveal all your secrets with just one glance. Now that they had Molly as their playwright, (and she wondered if she should be a bit worried that they were so desperate that they would believe she could write without even asking to see her work – Mary claimed that Molly had a bohemian spirit that was obvious from a mile away) they were just missing a financial backer. That’s where the Duchess came in.

The Duchess of Belgravia, aka Irene Adler, was well-known in just about every social circle. She was ambitious and a dangerous woman to cross, but she was also incredibly generous if one could win her favor. Mary told Molly that Sherlock was the one who would convince the Duchess to back the project, but first, Molly had to get Sherlock’s approval. That was the real reason they were at the Moulin Rouge tonight. After Sherlock’s act, Molly would meet the man, hopefully get his approval and everything would move forward as planned.

It seemed easy enough. Molly still had knots in her stomach.

After Molly’s second drink, Mary suddenly nudged her and gestured towards the stage. “That’s him. That’s Sherlock."

All Molly could see was a little old man. “Where?”

“Right there! On stage! You’re staring right at him.”

The crowd started to notice the little old man and began to cheer. The man suddenly straightened and threw off his hat and pocketed his beard, revealing a mop of black curls and a clean shaven face. “I must need to find a new disguise if you lot are starting to recognize me! That won’t do at all!” he shouted out.

Molly sat and watched in amazement as Sherlock Holmes spent the next fifteen minutes picking apart the lives of the patrons of the Moulin Rouge and returning various items that he’d managed to steal from them. She thought that surely some of them were plants, that there was no way that one man could figure out those things after only seconds of observation, but Mary said that he was the real deal. He left the stage and Mary jumped up, grabbing Molly’s hand and saying something about how it was time to meet the man.

Molly was fairly certain she would be sick as Mary pulled her outside and down an alleyway.

They climbed up a ladder, with Mary practically shoving Molly up on what appeared to be an elephant’s behind. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes lived in a room that was shaped like an elephant. Because of course he would. Molly started to wonder if she maybe shouldn’t have had that third drink.

“Just go into the room and wait for him. He’s expecting you! Just convince him that you’re a great playwright and then he’ll do all the heavy lifting with the Duchess.” Mary giggled and Molly quirked an eyebrow at her. “Lifting her won’t be too hard, actually. I’ve heard she’s a tiny little thing. A bit like you really.” She waved a hand as if to dismiss the subject as not important. “Go on! We’ll all meet you back at your flat! Good luck!”

And then she was gone.

Molly paced around the room briefly, before taking a seat on the chaise lounge. It was either that or the bed and well….Molly blushed just thinking about the other option. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, threatening her with being disowned if she came back pregnant with a bastard.

The door to the room opened and she couldn’t help but hold her breath.


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets a woman. She is not the woman he thought she was.

Sherlock threw the pocket watch up in the air and caught it again, walking as he talked with John. “I’m sure that Mrs. Lewiston will be glad to have her grandfather’s pocket watch back,” he told the other man, tossing the trinket over his shoulder to John. “It was like taking candy from a baby.”

“You say that every time,” John replied.

“Because it is that simple every time. All I have tonight is the meeting with the Duchess, correct? I need to start concocting a few more disguises. I’ve nearly worn out Old Man Cooper,” Sherlock said, pulling the beard out from his pocket where he had shoved it during the start of his act.

“She’s it. I think that Mary mentioned something about bringing by the new writer, but I haven’t heard any more about it. Speaking of…she’s waiting for me downstairs,” John said, pausing as Sherlock continued down the hall. “See you tomorrow?”

Sherlock didn’t reply verbally, but waved briefly as he kept on walking. He reached his room only moments later and already had his waistcoat unbuttoned by the time he walked in the door. He threw it carelessly in a corner and immediately began unbuttoning his shirt, intending on freshening up before the Duchess arrived. But he heard a nervous squeak come from his lounge and his eyes narrowed, seeking out the source of the noise.

Apparently, the Duchess was early. And she wasn’t at all what Sherlock expected. It was obvious that she had breeding and was from an upper-class family, but she seemed so…ordinary. Her reputation made her out to be a cold, hard woman but the woman sitting in front of him was seemed warm and deceptively sweet and…nervous. Sherlock’s eyes swept over her briefly, before he carefully arranged his face into an easy-going but flirtatious mask, the one he used on all the lonely wives that came to him and John for help in catching their cheating husbands. “Ah, Duchess, you’re early! No matter, I don’t need long to prepare.”

He continued to unbutton his shirt as he moved towards her. The woman actually squeaked again and Sherlock had to hold back laughter. This was Irene Adler, the woman who had men shaking in their boots? Ordinary people must be even stupider than he’d originally thought. “I’m sure that you want to hear all about our business plan, but I’ve always found that discussing business goes much smoother after we’ve indulged in some pleasure first.” He shrugged off his shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving him completely bare-chested. He held out his hand, which she took after a moment, her own hand trembling like a leaf in a storm. He pulled her up and into his arms. 

“Wait…Mr. Holmes, I’m not-” she stuttered. Sherlock managed not to roll his eyes at her and leaned forward, silencing her with a brief kiss.

“I realize that a woman of your standing doesn’t often do this sort of thing, but I promise that I’m very discreet,” he whispered against her lips, before properly kissing her. She went weak in his hold and he couldn’t hold back his smirk. He knew from her reputation of course that she did this sort of thing rather often, in fact; but he was a bit surprised at her quick surrender. He’d heard that the Duchess liked to play games. The woman in his arms seemed like she’d struggle at the simplest of amusements.

No matter, Sherlock thought to himself. It would only make her easier to manipulate when it came to asking for the proper funding for the theater. Perhaps he could even wheedle her for a nice little stipend, enough to let him move out of this bloody elephant and still keep his supply of his own personal “amusements.”

He was startled from his train of thought by her tiny fists beating against his chest. He promptly released her and couldn’t help but smirk as she fought to catch her breath. “Something the matter, Duchess?”

“Mr. Holmes, I’m not…I’m not the Duchess. I’m a writer? The new writer,” she managed to squeak out, her hand still pressed desperately to her chest.

Sherlock grinned seductively and leaned into her, causing her to back up, incidentally, towards the bed. He nodded seriously and then moved around her, going to spread himself out on the bed. “Of course you are. I knew you liked to play games, Duchess. Or should I call you Irene, if you’re just a lowly writer?” he asked, a playful quality to his voice. He wasn’t overly fond of indulging in these little sexual games with just any client, but since so much was riding on this meeting, he would cater to her every whim. If she wanted to role-play and pretend like she was some Bohemian writer and seduced him with poetry, then that’s exactly what they would do.

“I’m Molly Hooper and I really am a writer!” she insisted, her eyes widening as Sherlock propped himself up on some pillows, his hands resting casually on his chest.

“Of course you are, Molly,” he said, putting emphasis on her play name. It was a little odd of course, but most women liked to be called something different when they were in intimate situations like this. But usually it was little terms of affection, not…Molly. “Well go on then,” he said, waving his hand casually, “seduce me with your poetry.”

Her eyes went wide like saucers and Sherlock wondered for a brief moment if this was all simply a game to her. Maybe she was the one playing him? He studied her as she paced back and forth, determining that her nervousness was real. She wasn’t playing any sort of role right now…not that he could tell. He sighed and leaned back against the pillows as she finally opened her mouth to speak. “It’s…it’s a little bit funny. This feeling inside,” she looked up to the ceiling briefly and then squeezed her eyes shut, speaking in a rush of breath, “I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” She opened her eyes and shook her head in frustration, groaning slightly. “No, no, that was terrible. Uh, how about….my gift is my song! And this one’s for you and…and…oh no,” she whispered, crumbling on the bed in defeat.

Sherlock tilted his head curiously and watched as she shook her head, muttering to herself under her breath. Not what he expected at all. “It’s all right, Molly,” he whispered, getting up on his hands and knees and crawling towards her, placing a kiss on her shoulder. She stiffened under his lips and he couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. “You don’t have to write the show, Duchess. You just have to support it. Now, why don’t you stop worrying about it,” he whispered, grasping her shoulders and turning her towards him.

Suddenly, his door flew open and the Duchess made a noise of distress, burying her face in her hands. Sherlock glared at John and Mary, as well as her band of merry little Bohemians. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging in on us like that?” he berated John.

“She’s not the Duchess, Sherlock! Mary just told me everything,” John said, shooting a look to the blonde beside him. “We have to get her out of here, NOW. The Duchess will be here any minute.”

Sherlock turned to the woman still sitting on the edge of his bed. “You’re not the Duchess?”

“I told you so! Several times, actually!” she exclaimed, hopping up and backing away from him.

“Am I interrupting?” A cool voice asked from behind the group crowded at the door. The people crowded there parted and Irene Adler, Duchess of Belgravia, walked through, her eyebrow raised in silent appraisal. “Perhaps it isn’t the best time for our little get-together.” Her gaze zeroed in on Sherlock, still sitting on his bed and completely shirtless. “Although, it does look like you’re all ready for me.”

“Duchess,” he said smoothly, as everyone else watched in complete silence, praying that Sherlock could get them out of this situation. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us in a rather embarrassing situation! You see, we’ve all come together in a secret rehearsal – we were going to try and present a scene or two for you from _Spectacular Spectacular_ , but our new writer here has a vision that’s a bit different from Phillip’s. There was some confusion on my part, but I can assure you that she is more than up to the challenge. She’s the next big thing, we were lucky to grab her!”

He smiled charmingly at the Duchess, all while silently kicking himself. Of course the mousy woman was the new writer instead of the Duchess! Her breeding and background had confused him and he’d just assumed…he nearly growled, but managed to control himself. He always missed something but usually it wasn’t quite this colossal.

Molly, he assumed that was her actual name, kept quiet and just continued to stare. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and moved towards the Duchess. “Perhaps we could reschedule for tomorrow?”

She smiled at him, but there was something cold in the gesture. “No, that’s quite all right. You don’t have to act anything out for me…I’d be fine with just a summary. Then we could move on to the…negotiations.” She batted her eyes at Sherlock and smiled wickedly.

Sherlock locked eyes with John, who just straightened his back and nodded. Mary grinned wildly and bounced a bit on her toes, apparently quite game for the outrageous improv exercise they were about to embark on. Last, he looked to Molly. She was the unknown quantity in all of this. She was gnawing on her bottom lip, but when she met his gaze, she gave him a quick, but decisive, nod.

Between the band of bohemians that had burst through the door, Sherlock, and Molly, they managed to cobble together some sort of almost coherent storyline for the Duchess. It involved a prince who was betrothed to a heartless princess in a neighboring country, but fell in love with a servant girl instead. Mary would occasionally throw in contributions, but they were mostly nonsensical things – once she mentioned something about a giant hound making an appearance. But for the most part, Sherlock and Molly managed to craft quite a compelling storyline.

At the end of their impromptu and wildly unorganized presentation, everyone in the room turned their full attention to the Duchess. She was draped on the chaise regally and simply shrugged. “I suppose it’s fine but…I always find romance stories so….pedestrian. Don’t you think that someone should die at the end? Tragedies are the popular thing now, aren’t they?”

They all floundered at that, except Molly. “Oh no, Duchess! The whole point is that true love conquers all – I mean, eventually everyone has to die, but not at the end of a story like that. They all deserve a happy ending!” Almost immediately, she flushed with embarrassment and shrunk in on herself, sandwiching herself firmly between Mary and Greg.

The Duchess of Belgravia’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Molly carefully, before nodding slightly. “Fine. I like it.” She turned her attention to John and held out her hand. “I’ll fund the show.” John eagerly shook her hand. “I’ll call on you later in the week to work out some of the finer details.”

She then turned her gaze to Sherlock. She held out her hand to him, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and brushed them against her fingers. Her smile turned absolutely wicked. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Holmes.”

“And I with you, my lady,” he replied, a small smile on his face. He tried not to notice the way that Molly’s lips thinned in…what, jealousy?

The Duchess nodded and with that, left the room. Everyone seemed to sag in relief for a moment. But then John turned to Mary and started berating her about letting Molly in, which turned into quite the argument that luckily, moved its way outside. The rest of the crowd followed those two and left Molly and Sherlock alone again.

He looked over at her and glared. “I hope that you’re quite happy with yourself, Miss Hooper,” he said with derision. “You nearly ruined our best hope for turning the Moulin Rouge into a legitimate theater!”

“Me?” she exclaimed. “I told you the truth from the beginning! You were the one who kept on…undressing and…and…kissing!”

Sherlock practically growled as he grabbed Molly’s arm and steered her towards the door. “Just get out of here, little romantic.”

She dug her heels in and Sherlock almost collided with her as she stood her ground. “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, Mr. Holmes. You’ll have to tolerate me and my romantic ways for the next few months while we work on this play.” Her chin lifted defiantly, and Sherlock nearly chuckled at her façade of bravery. “Well…good night, Mr. Holmes," she said firmly, turning on her heel and walking down the stairs.

“Goodnight, Miss Hooper,” he muttered quietly, watching her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to try and actually write a "Spectacular, Spectacular" scene, but I basically exhausted myself before I even attempted it. :P This was one of my favorite chapters to write and actually where I started writing the story. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. A Conversation on Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly stumbles upon Sherlock in a vulnerable state. Sherlock and Molly discuss love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sherlock will be a drug user in this fic. I debated for a long time on how to handle it and decided to take notes from the series and.....use the drugs as a plot point when it was convenient and then like.....ignore the rest of the implications of Sherlock using. So. Realistic portrayal of drug use? Absolutely not. True to the series? ....Probably.
> 
> On a lighter note, loved exploring the start of their relationship here.

Molly spent most of the next day exploring the city with Mary and Sally, one of Mary’s closest friends in their little band of performers. The time that she wasn’t out in the city was spent in front of her typewriter, furiously trying to remember everything that they’d come up with during the night previous. She doubted that the Duchess would remember every single detail of their cobbled together presentation, but she wanted to be as accurate as possible.

It was around 11pm when she finally took a break, stealing away to the roof to get some air. She had the perfect view of the Moulin Rouge from the roof, and of Mr. Holmes’s room in the elephant. She nibbled at her lip as she debated about visiting him – his light was still on…it was highly unlikely that she’d be disturbing him. He seemed to be a rather nocturnal creature, much like herself.

The walk to the Moulin Rouge was quick and it was easy to sneak to the staircase that Mary had shoved her up the night before, the one that led directly to Mr. Holmes’s room. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door in front of her. “Mr. Holmes? It’s Molly…Molly Hooper.”

There was a soft moan from the other side of the door and Molly’s heart clenched. She’d heard moans like that before, in her father’s office. Without thinking, she flung open the door and gasped at the sight in front of her. Mr. Holmes was lying in his bed, a needle and empty vial carelessly tossed to the side and what she could only assume what used to be a tourniquet now wrapped loosely around his upper arm. Molly sprang into action, quickly and carefully removing the needle and vial from beside him and putting them back into the case. She then carefully placed the case on the desk in the corner of the room, before grabbing a half-filled pitcher of water and dumping it onto Sherlock.

His eyes shot open and he gasped, panting slightly as he stared confusedly at her. “What in the blazes was that for?”

Molly was practically vibrating with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “You could have died! You were nearly unconscious! People just forget to breathe when they get to that state!” Sherlock shook his head slightly and moved sluggishly, almost forcing himself off the bed and grabbing a towel hanging over the nearby chair. He started to strip off his shirt and Molly fought back her instinctual blush. “How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with!”

Sherlock turned his unfocused gaze to her, as he shrugged on a shirt that he’d gotten from his wardrobe. “Beautiful gifts?”

She felt herself blush this time and she cursed herself silently. “I saw your show, before I came here. You’re brilliant – amazing! But that,” she said, picking up the small brown case and waving it towards him, “could ruin all of it!”

He looked shocked for a moment before looking rather smug. “How do you even know what that is, little romantic?”

She glared for a moment, before settling the case back down on the table, noticeably out of his reach. “I’m not wholly innocent in the ways of the world, Mr. Holmes.” She ignored his snort of amusement and continued. “My father, when he was alive, was a doctor. I’ve seen far more bodies succumb to the evils of drugs like this than anyone should.”

He focused on her and she tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. Finally, he cracked a smile. It was small, but it made his face softer, more approachable. He started to button up his fresh shirt as he spoke. “Fine. You’ve convinced me for the night. I suppose I’ll have to find something else to divert my mind, if you insist on seeing that I remain conscious.”

“You could help me!” she said eagerly, before blushing slightly again at his bewildered expression.

“With writing. I can only remember about half of what we told the Duchess. You could help me write, if it would help distract you.”

He nodded. “Fine,” he said, gesturing to the small table in the corner of his room that had been hidden away by a screen the night previous.

They worked for about two hours, remembering the details of their impromptu presentation and structuring the show. Molly’s eyes started to droop after a while, which didn’t escape Sherlock’s notice.

“Time for you to leave, I think, Miss Hooper. Unless you’re planning on spending the night here with me,” he said with a lascivious wink.

Molly, although blushing wildly, simply laughed. “No, no, I’ll take my leave. Thank you for helping me, Mr. Holmes. And you can call me Molly. Miss Hooper sounds far too formal. Makes me think I’m back in London.”

He grinned that funny little grin again. “As you wish…Molly. And you may call me Sherlock.” She stood and moved towards the door, with Sherlock following behind her. “Come back tomorrow,” he said, as she opened the door.

“Pardon?” she asked, spinning around to face him.

“Come back tomorrow. I’ll help you continue to write. This is your first work, is it not?” She nodded. “I’ll continue to help with the direction of the story. It goes quicker with someone helping you.”

Molly smiled softly. “Yes, yes it does. Thank you, Sherlock.” She paused and fixed him with a serious look. “I better not find you with a needle in your arm again.”

He smirked. “I promise that you’ll find me sober and clear-headed. Come by around 10. I should be back from the show by then.”

* * *

They continued on in a similar vein for the next few weeks, with Molly coming to Sherlock’s room after his bit at the Moulin Rouge to continue working on the show. And Sherlock, much to his surprise, found himself rather enjoying her company. She was rather clever and quick-witted, which had been unexpected, especially considering her behavior from their first meeting. Once she was more at ease around him, her personality started to emerge and he found her…oddly endearing. She was distracting enough that he hadn’t sought amusement in his little brown kit since the night she’d found him near unconscious.

She’d shown up tonight in a flowing, soft pink gown, something he assumed was from her previous life in England. It must have driven her proper family around the bend that she was here in Paris. She’d tied her hair back with a rose-colored ribbon, exposing her neck to him in a surprisingly tempting manner. She was bent over his small table, frantically scribbling down lines as he watched her. “Why are you so fascinated with love, Molly? When you’ve never experienced it for yourself?” The words were out of his mouth almost before he realized he was actually speaking out loud.

Molly looked up, her eyes wide. This was by far the most personal topic that Sherlock had broached with her during their late-night work sessions. “How do you know I’ve never been in love?”

Sherlock scoffed and Molly immediately blushed, turning away from him. “You should know my methods by now, Molly. You’re still an idealist about love…anyone who’s actually been in love is far more cynical.”

She turned towards him again and her brown eyes examined him. He shifted slightly, unused to being the subject of scrutiny instead of being the scrutinizer. “Are you speaking from experience then, Sherlock? You don’t seem the type.”

He chuckled and shook his head, sitting up straighter and leaning forward. “I don’t bother with emotional attachments. Far too much work – takes up space in my head that could be used for something much more useful. Why bother if there’s no purpose?”

Molly sat back, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Of course there’s a purpose to love.”

Sherlock raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What is it then?”

She bit her lip and raised her gaze, before shrugging. “To know that you’re not alone in the world. That there is something greater.” Her gaze was distant and she smiled softly, wistfully. “The greatest thing in the world would be to love and be loved in return.”

Sherlock grunted in a non-response and sat back against the couch again. Molly tilted her head, examining him again. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about it, Sherlock? What it feels like to be in love?”

“I think I’m quite familiar with the way it feels, Molly,” he said, suggestively looking towards the bed.

Molly blushed but didn’t look away from him. “I’m not talking about that. What you do with your clients…that’s so different from what it’s actually like to be in love…it has to be,” she said with conviction. She watched silently as Sherlock got up from the couch and came to sit in the chair next to her at the table. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her soft skin. “Sherlock…what are you doing?” she whispered, unable to look away from him.

“You must be curious about the way this feels too,” he murmured, leaning into her and kissing the side of her mouth, just a breath away from her lips. He could feel her holding her breath as he moved back, considering the woman in front of him.

“Of course I am,” she said breathlessly, her eyes darting between his lips and his eyes. “But we can’t, Sherlock.”

He chuckled, moving even further back, out of her personal space. “You can’t tell me that you’re living amongst bohemians and you’re still keeping yourself pure for the marriage bed?”

Molly glared. “No! No, I’m not!” she said defensively. “It’s just…I want to be in love.” She shrugged. “That’s all. I’m not being prudish.”

Sherlock nodded. The air was thick around them, neither speaking but unable to look away from the other. Suddenly, Sherlock scooted his chair back and the noise seemed to break the spell of the moment. He stood up and then held out his hand to Molly. “I think that’s quite enough for one night, little romantic. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Molly nodded and took a deep breath as she took his hand and stood. She started to move towards the door, but turned to him again suddenly. She gasped, finding him hovering far too close to her – she nearly collided with him upon her turn. Sherlock’s arms darted out to steady her. “You’ve given me something to think about, Molly. You’re not at all what I expected.”

She smiled softly. “Good night, Sherlock,” she murmured, stepping forward and going up on her tip toes, brushing a barely there kiss against Sherlock’s cheek. She then quickly turned around, opening the door and fleeing down the stairs, unwilling to look back at him.

Sherlock stood at the top of the stairs and watched her go. Their nights so often ended in this way and it was getting harder and harder to watch her leave. “Good night, Molly,” he whispered to her rapidly retreating back.


	4. Boiling Point and a Decision Made

A few nights later, Molly was just getting ready to head over to Sherlock’s flat when there was an urgent knock on the door. Her brow furrowed – the only person who would bother to visit her was Mary and she wasn’t exactly the type to knock. Usually Molly would come into her room to find that Mary was already there and had helped herself to some of Molly’s sweets. She was smiling as she opened the door, but her expression fell a bit when she saw who was on the other side. “Oh! Sherlock! Hello – I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we were meeting at yours tonight. Is everything all right?”

“This isn’t working,” he said, irritability written all over his face. He entered her flat without any further explanation and started pacing. Molly’s brow furrowed and she slowly closed the door behind her, before turning towards Sherlock.

“What are you talking about? Has something happened with the Duchess? Or the theater?”

He shook his head violently. “It’s none of that. It’s you! Us working together, it won’t work!” he practically growled at her, his hands running through his hair wildly.

“Sherlock, I don’t understand.” Molly sat down on the small couch in her room and watched as he continued to stalk back and forth in front of her. “I thought that we were working well together. Everything seemed to be…fine.”

He finally stilled in front of her, staring at her and breathing heavily. “I can’t focus. I make my living through my observations, through my senses. And every time I attempt to use them, I end up thinking of you!”

Molly’s eyes were wide, and she was frozen on the couch as she watched Sherlock as he barreled on ahead. “You’re clouding my head. I try to identify the type of perfume that lingers on a client’s husband’s scarf and all I can think of is how your perfume is far more appealing. I listen to a client talk about his ridiculous case about his banker who is most certainly stealing from him and my mind wanders off and starts thinking about the way you look when you’re working on the script in my flat.”

Sherlock growled again and stalked towards Molly’s small balcony, stepping outside, and braced himself against the railing. Molly sat in shock for a few seconds, before slowly standing and making her way towards him. “Sherlock,” she murmured, gently laying her hand against his back. “I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”

He spun around and wrapped his hands around her hips, pulling her forward. Molly gasped and stumbled against him, her hands bracing herself against his chest. “Perhaps we shouldn’t speak anymore then,” he murmured, right before ducking his head and capturing her lips with his.

Just like before, when he thought she was the Duchess, Molly melted into his arms. Her hands moved from his chest, up his shoulders, and met at his neck, tugging him down slightly so it was easier for her to reach his lips. Sherlock groaned against her and his hands slid to the small of her back, pressing her tightly to his front.

Molly gasped against him, unused to being so close to anyone in this manner – especially being this close to Sherlock. Until a few nights ago, he’d kept his distance and she hadn’t even been sure that he liked her. She rather thought that he just tolerated her presence because he had to, because he cared about what happened to the Moulin Rouge. But now, there was definite proof that Sherlock liked her – more than liked her – gently prodding at her stomach. Molly jumped away in shock, blushing furiously as she realized how naïve she truly was.

Sherlock looked rather dazed. He licked his lips slowly and Molly stared at him, following his tongue across his lips. His expression was soft, so different from how she usually saw him. “My apologies, Molly. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She pulled her shoulders back, hoping that she looked more confident than she felt. “I’m not frightened, Sherlock! I just…I think we’re moving too fast. I didn’t even think you liked me all that much and then you come in here and kiss me like that…”

He chuckled and ruffled his hair self-consciously. “Yes, I imagine that from your perspective this was all rather sudden.” His eyes narrowed and he sighed, stepping off the balcony and back inside and then shuffling off to the side, removing himself from Molly’s personal space. “I do like you, Molly Hooper. I cannot guarantee that it’s love…I don’t know what love is. But I am open to exploring it with you. If you decide that you are amenable to exploring it as well, come to my room. It is entirely your decision,” he said. He then nodded slightly to her and turned on his heel, striding over to the door and rather dramatically exiting her room.

Molly stood dumbfounded on the balcony, bringing her fingers up to her swollen lips, where Sherlock had so passionately kissed her only moments before.

* * *

“And so he just stormed into your room, told you he wanted you, snogged the daylights out of you and then left? Just like that?” Mary exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Molly giggled and took a sip of her tea. “That’s exactly what happened! Honestly, Mary, I thought the man barely tolerated me. And then…this.” She shrugged. “I just don’t understand.”

The other woman shook her head. “Oh, Molly, sweet Molly. Of course he likes you! Sherlock can barely stand to be around anyone for longer than about twenty minutes. Honestly. He’s been spending hours with you at night. We’ve all noticed!” She leaned forward and grabbed a biscuit off the plate on the table. “Suppose we all thought you knew, what with your proper English education and all,” Mary teased.

Molly, quite maturely, stuck her tongue out at her friend. “All right, fine. He likes me. What do I do about it? He said that whatever happens next is my decision…what do I decide?”

Mary smirked. “Well, you know I can’t decide for you. But if it was me?” Molly nodded eagerly, leaning forward slightly in her seat. “Go for it. What do you have to lose? Isn’t this what you came to Paris for? A big love story – this is it, darling.”

A pink flush spread across Molly’s cheeks and she giggled, before hiding her face in her hands. “I can read and write about romance all I want…but when it comes to actual romance myself, I’m completely at a loss,” she mumbled, her words muffled by her hands. Mary reached over and rubbed her shoulder in comfort. Molly’s hands dropped away from her face. “I want to pursue it. I want…him.”

Mary grinned brightly. She hopped up from her seat and held out her hand invitingly. The other woman sighed and cautiously grabbed Mary’s hand, allowing her to pull Molly up and towards Mary’s bedroom. “I have just the thing. Sherlock won’t know what hit him.” Mary nodded over to her bed and Molly took a seat.

Mary opened up her wardrobe and reached towards the back, pulling out a gorgeous red dress. “Oh Mary, no. I couldn’t. I couldn’t wear that!”

Mary giggled and held the dress flush against her body. “It’s perfect! This is exactly what a romantic heroine would wear to seduce her hero.” She moved towards Molly and held the skirt of the dress out to her. Molly slowly, cautiously ran a finger over the satin, imagining the look on Sherlock’s face if he saw her in it.

“It is beautiful,” she said softly.

“Come, come! We’ll take it down to your flat and I’ll help you into it and then I’ll send for Sherlock. I’m supposed to go and meet John after he and Sherlock finish anyway. I’ll tell him that you’ve made your decision.” Mary grinned at Molly. Without waiting for Molly’s response, she flounced out of the room. Molly laughed and quickly hopped up from the bed, following her friend down to her own flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one will make it worth it. Promise. ;)


	5. Consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's made her decision. Sherlock delights in teaching her something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You shall find only smut in this chapter. You've been warned. :) Thanks to all who voted for this fic in the Sherlock and Molly Fanfic Awards!!! I so appreciate it and love that people are enjoying it. 
> 
> On a very random note, I definitely spent a fair amount of time researching prophylactics in 19th century France for this chapter so....you're welcome. I just needed to share that condoms are period appropriate.

Molly took a deep breath as she heard Sherlock’s soft knock upon her door. She smoothed out the skirt of the beautiful red dress one more time. “Come in, Sherlock,” she called out, forcing herself to remain sitting on her bed. Her little one room flat didn’t have much privacy for when she had guests, but it was perfect for what she had planned.

Essentially, her plan was to look alluring in Mary’s borrowed dress and have Sherlock ravish her. The small space worked in her favor – she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to move around too much in the tightly corseted gown. It wasn’t much of a plan, but no matter how many times she had tried to plan it out, it was as far as she could get. She wanted to blame the corset, but she was afraid that she was actually just horribly out of her depth.

The door creaked open and Molly found herself having to remind herself to breathe as Sherlock entered the flat. “Hello,” she said softly.

His lip twitched up slightly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon, Molly.” His gaze raked over her figure, clad so invitingly in the borrowed red dress. He could tell that it wasn’t hers; the fit was off in certain places, but it really didn’t matter. She looked unbelievable in it.

“Why wait? I knew my answer.” She took another deep breath and stood. “I would have come to your room, like you told me to but,” she looked down at her dress, “I didn’t want to traipse all over Montmartre in this dress. I don’t think I’d even make it a few blocks without passing out,” she said, giggling slightly and pressing a hand to her stomach.

Sherlock smiled fully and she smiled back at him. “I don’t know what love is either, Sherlock,” she murmured. “But I want to find out. I want us to find out...together.” She stepped close to him, her fingers tentatively curling around the lapel of his long coat. “I’ll give you whatever you want, Sherlock.”

He bent his head, his lips hovering over hers, sharing her breath. “And if I want you? Just you?”

Her eyes were wide and she licked her lips briefly, her gaze darting down to his own lips before looking back up. “You can have me. Of course you can,” she whispered, raising herself up onto her tiptoes and lightly brushing her lips against his. She pulled away shyly after only a few moments, but Sherlock made a soft, desperate noise and tugged her forward, kissing her again.

This time, the kiss was greedy and passionate, instead of soft and sweet. He pulled her to him, his hands slipping over the satin of the dress and automatically going to the laces at the back. He managed to get most of the top undone without breaking their kiss, but the rest of the lacing was quite the formidable foe.

He all but growled against her lips and broke away from her. “Turn around, Molly. This infernal dress is gorgeous, but it is quite impossible to maneuver you out of.” She flushed, her skin turning just a few shades lighter than the dress she was wearing, but she obediently turned around, presenting her back to Sherlock.

His head bent and he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “This is a scandalous dress, Ms. Hooper,” he murmured, his lips against her skin as his nimble fingers unlaced the back. “So much skin…”

Molly shivered, feeling light-headed as her short, shallow breaths became more and more uneven. “Sherlock,” she whimpered, as his teeth gently scraped across her shoulder, catching on the strap that held up her dress.

“You’re going to be bad for business, Molly; I can tell.” He continued on in relative silence, until her dress was fully unlaced and loosened enough so he could push the dress down, letting it pool at her feet. His fingers brushed against the material of her corset and over her petticoats. “So many layers,” he murmured.

Molly giggled and turned around. “This is the easy part though.” Her fingers went to her petticoat and untied the ribbon holding it in place, pushing it off her hips and then going to the hooks keeping her corset in place. “You’ve got quite a few layers yourself, Mr. Holmes.” She grabbed his coat and pulled him close. “You should catch up.”

Immediately, Sherlock started to shed his clothing as well. Molly quickly rid herself of her undergarments and scrambled under the covers of her bed, suddenly shy and uncertain. Sherlock was so focused on undressing, he hardly noticed Molly shrinking in on herself. But eventually, he turned to her. Molly blushed as she took in his nude body, trying not to avert her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards her and gently capturing her lips.

“Oh Molly,” he whispered. “So innocent.”

She drew her shoulders, raising her chin somewhat defiantly, and dropped the covers away from her chest. His fingers caressed her collarbone first, before drifting down and then covering her entire breast with his hand. Molly sucked in a deep breath. He leaned in and kissed her again, taking his time exploring her with his mouth and his hands.

“I think…I think I want you,” she confessed quietly. He smiled, his lips still brushing against hers.

“You think?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never done this before, Sherlock. I don’t know…what to do.” She took a deep breath and held up the covers to him in invitation. “Teach me?”

Sherlock’s smile was positively wicked as he slid under the covers. “Lie down,” he whispered. She nodded and immediately moved onto her back; her eyes wide as she watched him move over her. He craned his neck to kiss her again as he settled above her, his body pressing her down into the mattress. “Oh, the things I want to do to you, Molly.” His words were muffled against her skin, but she understood him well enough.

“So many things to teach you. But I won’t overwhelm you tonight. Tonight, we’ll start with the basics. You know what it’s like to be kissed,” he said, leaning down again to kiss her lips, “But touch is still new.” All his weight shifted onto one bent arm, freeing up his other hand to run along her skin, which broke out into goosebumps in his wake. She gasped and he looked up at her, smiling wickedly. “The noises you make…and that’s just from my hand along your side. I wonder,” he said, with a faux-ponderous look on his face, “what noise you’ll make if I do this?”

Molly scarcely had time to wonder what his next move would be. He shifted again so that his weight was evenly distributed in both of his arms and he lowered himself so his mouth could latch on to her breast. She gasped and squirmed, her fingers curling in the sheets of the bed as he kissed and licked at the soft skin of her breast, before taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking. She thrust her chest forward and moaned loudly, certain that nothing had ever felt this good before.

Sherlock released her nipple and looked up at her. “Good?”

She giggled and swatted at him. “You know it is. Now keep doing what you were doing!”

He grinned at her and lowered his head, this time to her other breast and he repeated his ministrations, until she was writhing and moaning once more. She was so preoccupied by the sensations that he was causing, that she didn’t even notice that he’d shifted his weight again, his free hand trailing against her side, down to the outside of her thigh.

She did notice though, once his hand moved to the inside of her thigh and went dangerously high, nearly to that place on her body that she only explored in the middle of the night, that place that she could feel was slick with her own arousal. She blushed and clamped her thighs together, out of instinct.

Sherlock simply smiled at her, his hand trapped between her thighs and unable to move. “Nothing to worry about, Molly.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly, reinforcing his words. “I just want to show you. Want to make you feel good. Let me, Molly. Let me have you,” he whispered, as her thighs fell open, letting his hand move again, higher and higher, until his fingertips could just brush against the outside of her folds. He groaned, his head dropped to her neck and she shivered when his fingers breached her lower lips ever so slightly.

“Oh Molly,” he sighed, his fingers moving with purpose now, running along the slick skin and seeming to seek something. She couldn’t help the movement of her hips, chasing his touch. “Oh, my sweet little romantic, you’re so wet for me. So ready and sweet and ripe for the taking.”

Molly moaned. “I never…never thought you’d talk like this, Sherlock.”

He chuckled and leaned back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. “I don’t, normally. But I did my research, Molly Hooper. I know your darkest fantasies.” He glanced over meaningfully to her desk, where her meager stack of romantic novels from London sat; some of them were quite bawdy. One of his fingers dipped inside her opening and Molly groaned, her inner muscles clenching at his intrusion.

He watched as she bit her lip, looking slightly uncertain. “What? Have I hurt you?” he asked, his finger still just barely inside her. He refused to move one way or the other until she answered him.

Her cheeks, already pink with arousal, flushed even darker. “No! No, but…I don’t want a fantasy, Sherlock. I just…I just want you.”

He sat back on his haunches and she tried not to whimper at the loss of his touch. “I don’t know how to just be me, Molly. I’ve never…it’s been a long time since I’ve done this with someone who wasn’t paying me.”

She gnawed on her lip, fighting the urge to cover up again. “Do you…do you really want to do this? If you don’t like it…if it’s just like work, we don’t have to…”

He shook his head and surged forward, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, taking the opportunity to also press his erection against her thigh. “I very much want to, Molly,” he growled out and she grinned in response. “I just…don’t know…what I want. I just want you.”

She took a steadying breath and then placed the palm of her hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. “I told you; you have me. Let me take care of you, Sherlock,” she whispered. He let himself fall onto his back and held her steady as she climbed on top of him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She smirked. “I know the general gist of things. Like you pointed out earlier, I live amongst bohemians. They have no qualms about talking of the more carnal pleasures in life. I think I might even know more about John Watson than you do,” she said, her eyes sparkling wickedly. He groaned and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her down to him for a kiss.

“I really don’t want to know anything about John Watson that I don’t already know.”

“Then never ask Mary how her night was,” Molly replied, giggling as she braced herself against his chest. “I think this position will work nicely for my first time, won’t it? I can control how deep you are inside of me,” she murmured, almost to herself as she reached down and gently stroked his cock.

Sherlock, suddenly finding himself mute, could only nod and place his hands on her hips, steadying her as she put him into position. She hovered above him for a moment before she began to sink down.

“Oh my,” she whispered.

He couldn’t help but laugh, stroking her hips and hoping that she wouldn’t think he was laughing at her. “That was the most adorable reaction someone has ever had to my cock, Molly.” He smirked as she blushed prettily at his foul mouth. “Go at your own pace, darling.” He paused for a moment, as Molly hovered with just the head inside of her. “But also quite quickly, if you please.”

Molly let out a breathless laugh as she sank down further. “You’re just…big. No wonder you walk around with such swagger…” Sherlock laughed and propped himself up on his elbows, watching her intently as she slowly but surely took him fully inside of her. She stilled for a moment and then shivered, closing her eyes at the delicious sensation.

“Lean forward, Molly. Put your hands on either side of my head,” Sherlock whispered, reclining back on the bed again and keeping one hand on her hip and the other moving to her low back, brushing soothingly against the skin there.

She nodded and did as he said, leaning forward. The change in angle made her gasp and her eyes flew open, seeking him out. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, this is good.”

He chuckled and just barely bucked his hips upwards, loving the little gasp that his actions forced from her. “Now roll your hips. Like you’re back on your posh English estate, riding a horse in the field.” Molly closed her eyes again and she gave it a few tries before really finding a rhythm that worked. “Yes, that’s it,” Sherlock whispered to her, leaning up to brush a gentle kiss across her lips. Molly’s eyes opened and fixed on him, darker than he’d ever seen them before.

Her hair fell around them like a curtain as she worked herself on his cock, making soft noises of pleasure. One of his hands moved to where they were joined and his thumb brushed along her wetness, seeking out that little nub of pleasure that he knew would send her over the edge. She gasped and stopped moving when he found it, her face screwing up in pleasure. “What was that?” she whispered.

Sherlock smirked and rubbed against her again. She let out a loud moan and collapsed onto his chest, her breath panting against his neck. It was an awkward angle now, with her chest pressed against his, but Sherlock managed to rub her again. “That’s your clitoris, Molly. I take it you’ve never touched it before?”

She moaned and shook her head. “I’ve sort of…rubbed myself before but it never…it never felt like this.” Whimpering, she pressed back against his cock, taking him in deeper.

“Sit back up, sweetheart,” he murmured. Shakily, she raised herself up and planted her hands slightly behind her, opening herself up to him. His feet came up on the bed, his bent knees now providing support to her as she leaned against them slightly. This finally gave him some leverage and he began gently thrusting up into her, while his thumb kept up its ministrations. Molly’s eyes closed tightly and her mouth dropped open in a soft, continuous moan.

“Please, please, please,” she babbled as Sherlock kept his pace. “Please don’t stop.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re a fool if you think I’m stopping any time soon, Molly. I want to feel you clench around me. I want you to come for me,” he whispered.

He only had to wait for just another minute or so until Molly tensed up completely and she moaned, collapsing back fully against his knees. Sherlock smiled and gently thrust into her until she relaxed against him. She half-heartedly waved a hand to him and he chuckled, sitting up and leaning over to kiss her thoroughly. “May I continue?” he asked cordially, dragging a hand down her chest and delighting in her shivering response.

“Mhm,” she murmured. “But you’re on top now. I did all the work before.”

Sherlock grinned at her and rearranged her legs so they were straight in front of her and then supported her back with both his hands as he withdrew from her and moved so that he was on his knees in front of her. He lowered her down to the bed and bent down, kissing her again. Molly wound her arms around his neck, keeping him pressed against her even as they broke their kiss.

He slid inside her again and she moaned, turning her head to bury it against his neck. “Ok?” he asked quietly.

She whimpered and nodded. “So good, Sherlock.” Her hands dropped to his shoulders and then wound around to his back, pressing him down against her. “Please…more.”

Sherlock nodded and thrust against her with increasing force as Molly began loudly moaning again, spurring him on. He felt the familiar tightening that signaled his orgasm was imminent. He quickly pulled out of her, his hand going to his cock and stroking it roughly. Molly watched him curiously as he moaned out his release and spattered his seed over her stomach.

He fell forward onto his hands, placed on either side of Molly’s head, and leaned in for a kiss as he caught his breath. “Why did you do that?” Molly asked softly, her curious fingers trailed down to her stomach, dragging through the milky white liquid on her skin. Sherlock watched silently as she brought her fingers up to her mouth and licked cautiously, before making a face.

Sherlock chuckled. “We weren’t using any protection. I’ll have to bring over some of my condoms to your flat so that we’re prepared for next time. Getting you pregnant when there’s still so much to do with the show wouldn’t be one of my smarter moves.” Molly giggled and Sherlock bent down towards her again, kissing her gently.

He noticed that she was squirming more than before and he broke the kiss, looking down at her curiously. “Are you all right, Molly? Did I hurt you?”

She quickly shook her head, but her pink cheeks told him that there was something more. “I think I was…close again. When you finished. I feel like I have all this energy within me still.” Sherlock grinned wickedly at her and slid his hand up her leg to the slick wetness between her legs. He cupped her lightly, the tip of his finger teasing her entrance. Molly gasped and pushed her hips towards him.

“Is this all right, Molly?” he asked, gently pressing a finger inside of her. She nodded breathlessly and Sherlock smiled down at her, leaning down for yet another kiss. He stayed close to her, indulging in her panting breaths as he added another finger and ground his palm against her clit. “Is this what you want?”

“Mmmm, yes, please, Sherlock. More!”

His fingers moved a bit faster and it was only a few seconds later that Molly’s hips were bucking and she arched her back, silently finding her release again. He kept his fingers moving through her climax, until she finally went slack against the bed. He swiped his thumb over her clit one last time and grinned at the jolt it gave her. He slowly removed his fingers and Molly watched with hazy eyes as he stuck them in his mouth, licking them clean. “You taste better than I do,” he murmured, and she grinned up at him.

He quickly got up and went to the corner of her room where she had a little pitcher of water and a small cloth and quickly wet it, before bringing it back to bed. He gently wiped away his seed from her stomach and quickly ran it over her inner thighs and between her legs. He ran it over himself as well, and then threw the cloth to the ground and curled up beside her, tucking her against his side. “I usually use that to wash my face,” she murmured, a hint of protest in her almost slurred words.

Sherlock chuckled and tightened his embrace. “Not today.”

“We made a mess of the bed,” Molly said looking around at the bunched-up sheets. “And we’re nowhere near the pillows.” She got up and rearranged herself at the head of the bed, letting her head fall heavily onto one of the pillows. Sherlock grinned and followed her lead.

Once again, she snuggled against him, her hand absently stroking his chest. “Was that good?” she asked quietly, after a few moments of silence.

Sherlock let a sharp bark of laughter escape before he glanced down at Molly and cupped her cheek. “That was marvelous, Molly Hooper.”

“Good. I rather thought so too,” she murmured, pressing her cheek to his chest contentedly. Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle at her response.

“You were right,” he whispered, dragging his fingers up and down her naked back. She made a soft, questioning sound, and he looked down at her, her eyes fighting to stay open. “It’s different when you care for the person.”

Molly grinned, finally letting her eyes close as she held him tightly.


	6. The Calm Before the Storm

They carried on together for weeks, switching between his rooms and hers, before anyone (other than Mary) cottoned on to the fact that they were a couple. Even John hadn’t realized until the day that he’d accidentally walked in on Molly walking around in Sherlock’s dressing gown in his room, while Sherlock sat in bed as naked as the day he was born. As people in their circle found out, Sherlock intimidated them all into staying quiet, threatening to reveal their deepest secrets if they let the relationship slip to anyone.

He knew what the Duchess expected of him and didn’t want word of his relationship with Molly to endanger their financial backing. But, at the same time, he wasn’t willing to let go of Molly to ensure the theater’s future. So he settled for threatening violence or blackmail if anyone made their relationship known to the Duchess.

But that didn't mean that everything was easy between them. They’d started rehearsals, even though the script wasn’t completely finished yet, and the pressure was getting to both of them. Molly would get quiet when she was upset and stressed, but Sherlock’s already short fuse would get even shorter and he’d be quick to yell and storm off when he was displeased with something. It led to awkward nights attempting to finish the script, with Molly refusing to speak a word and Sherlock stalking around and occasionally throwing things.

Sometimes the nights ended with sex. Sometimes they ended with one of them storming out of whichever flat they were working in that night.

So it was to everyone’s relief when Molly finally brought the finished script to rehearsal. A cheer went up amongst the cast and Mary waved a bottle of absinthe in the air in celebration, which Sherlock quickly snatched from her hand. “We actually do have to rehearse, Mary,” he said dryly, and she simply stuck her tongue out at him in response.

They saved the celebrations until after the rehearsal and they continued on well into the night. Both Sherlock and Molly had indulged in the various alcoholic beverages (but not the absinthe – Molly had made that mistake once at the start of her time in Montmartre and would NOT be repeating it) and were freer with their affections than they had been in the past.

They’d been making their way towards Sherlock’s rooms, but had gotten distracted. Sherlock had Molly pressed against a wall in a quiet, dark hallway, kissing and biting at her delicate neck. Her face was buried in his shoulder, trying to smother her moans as his hand slid over her chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock could have sworn he saw movement and he jerked his head up. Molly looked as if she was about to protest, but he quickly laid a finger against her lips and shook his head, craning his neck to see if he could spot whoever it had been, lurking in the shadows. After a few moments, he grabbed Molly’s hand and led her up to his rooms, neither of them speaking.

“What was that about?” Molly asked once they were safely inside.

Sherlock shook his head. “I thought that I saw someone watching us from the shadows. It could have just been the alcohol.” He shrugged and then smiled at her, grabbed her around the waist and kissing her soundly. “What do you say that we properly celebrate finishing that script?”

Molly grinned up at him. “I think that sounds like quite the brilliant idea, Mr. Holmes.” She shrieked happily as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

* * *

The next day, the Duchess was at rehearsal, saying that she’d heard the script was finished and she’d love to hear the show from start to finish. Sherlock tried to persuade her to give them some time to rehearse, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So they stumbled through the show, the script being passed around between them, with the Duchess watching from the middle of the rehearsal space. Her goons were scattered throughout the theater, mostly near the doors, and Molly sat off to the side of stage left.

Once the final number ended, everyone looked eagerly to the Duchess, anxious to hear her reaction. She shrugged. “It still just seems…I don’t know. Ordinary. Boring. I thought I’d feel differently once I saw it, but I don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “A happy ending where they ride off into the sunset together? Where’s the drama in that?”

“It’s a beautiful ending,” Molly said, standing from her spot. “Being in love and happy is a daring, beautiful thing. Just because something might end sadly doesn’t mean that it’s better.”

Sherlock hopped off the stage and strolled towards Irene, without sparing a look to Molly. “What our dear writer is trying to say, Duchess, is that like we told you before, romances are quite in fashion right now, especially for the crowd that visits the Moulin Rouge. Our patrons are hungry for connection, even if it’s only for the night. The same can be said of any theatregoer. It’s the perfect cross-section of our current audience and the one that we hope to bring in.”

He smiled at her as she pursed her lips in thought. “I still don’t know if I’m convinced. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock finally glanced over to Molly, whose face was completely blank as she watched the exchange. “If you’d like to discuss any sort of creative changes, Miss Hooper and I would be happy to-”

She cut him off, shaking her head. “No, no. Just you, Sherlock. You’re co-writer, aren’t you? And the star. I’m sure that whatever we work out will be fine with Miss Hooper. Besides, I’m sure after seeing it in full today that she’ll be busy tonight tweaking things. I know how writers are.” Grinning at him, she reached into her bag and pulled out a card, tucking it into the pocket of his trousers and then patting his thigh gently. “7 o’clock tonight at my residence. Come hungry.”

With that, she nodded to the cast and then turned on her heel and made her way out of the theatre, her men trailing behind her.

Mary crouched down so she was close to Molly. “She’s a bitch, but she’s a bitch with money.” Molly just nodded, her lips thin as she avoided Sherlock’s gaze.

Sherlock dismissed the rest of the cast and watched as Molly snuck out the back, thinking that she’d escaped him for now.

But he was waiting for her at her flat when she entered the room. She didn’t even show any sort of surprise when she saw him sitting on the bed. She simply shut the door behind her and sighed, throwing her bag onto the small table near the door. “Any particular reason that you broke into my flat today, Sherlock?”

“I thought we should talk about what just happened at rehearsal.”

She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I’m sorry that I spoke out of turn with the Duchess. She just made me so mad…we’ve worked so hard on this and it’s a beautiful story and she thinks it’s ordinary! Boring! There’s nothing ordinary about being in love!”

Sherlock hopped off the bed and came to stand in front of her, gathering her in an embrace. She fought him for a moment, but then melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m trying not to be jealous. But she’s just so beautiful and smart and…cold, Sherlock. She makes everything sound so logical and I hate it.” She turned her head so that her lips brushed against Sherlock’s throat. “I feel so small when she’s in the room.”

“You shouldn’t, Molly. You’re twice the woman she is with more talent in your right pinkie finger than she has in her entire body,” he assured her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re right. The story is perfect as it is – I’ll fight for it tonight, Molly.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, a soft smile on her face. She raised up on her tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I do trust you, Sherlock. I think I’m just a bit…jealous. I know I shouldn’t be, but that doesn’t actually…stop me from feeling it.”

Sherlock drew away from her slightly. “It’s part of my job, Molly.”

“I know! I know that. And I know that…sex means something different to you. But I just - I hate the way she looks at you. She looks at you like you’re a piece of meat…like you’re something to be owned.”

Sherlock cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead against hers. “You have no reason to be jealous of the Duchess, Molly. I swear it.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “I’ll come back to you tonight, Molly. I promise. But for now I have to go get ready for the dinner.” He stole another kiss. “Don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” she murmured, tightening her embrace briefly before dropping her arms.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I have noticed that about you, darling. But please, try to keep it to a minimum tonight. Go and bother Mary. I’m sure she’ll be good as a distraction. I believe that she and John are off this week, so I’m sure she’ll have plenty of gossip for you.” Molly grinned and playfully shooed him out of her flat.


	7. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene calls Sherlock's bluff and lays down her terms. But will Sherlock accept them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was one of the more challenging chapters to write, but I ended up pretty pleased with how it turned out. Hope that you enjoy!

Sherlock had put on an actual dinner jacket for the night and made his way to the address on the card. The Duchess was staying the penthouse suite of the nicest hotel in Paris, high above the squalor of the city streets. When he arrived, there was a great banquet table in the dining room, with Irene already sitting at the head. She gestured to him to come and sit next to her and he obliged.

He was on high alert, but the Duchess seemed relaxed, casual, and ready to discuss anything but the show during dinner. Instead she asked him about his career here in Paris, his time spent in England as a young boy, and his favorite places to go around town. Sherlock found himself relaxing somewhat by the second course of the meal.

By dessert, she finally broached the subject of the show. “I know you think I’m just being difficult, but I really am afraid that the script is just too pedestrian. I think the Moulin Rouge should premiere a show that’s exciting and new. Not some little girl’s romantic fantasy. I mean…she’s sweet and all, and I know that she has a particular soft spot for you, but…are you sure it’s the right decision for the company?”

Sherlock chuckled, even though he bristled at hearing the Duchess talk about Molly. “The show actually embodies all the Bohemian ideals quite perfectly, Duchess. And that’s what people come to Montmartre for – freedom, beauty, truth, and love. If we were to change the ending, they wouldn’t embody those same ideals.”

“You know the Bohemians,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “They’re obsessed with their tales of love overcoming all – I personally find it ridiculous. But I know that Miss Hooper is a talented writer, so I let her have her little crush. Her play will make the Moulin Rouge a successful theater, Duchess. And I think that’s in all of our best interests.” He smirked at her, one that Irene gladly returned. Sherlock took a sip of the wine in front of him that had been brought out with the dessert.

“I’ll tell you what, Sherlock,” Irene murmured, getting up from her spot at the table to walk the few steps to where Sherlock sat. She leaned back against the table and ran a fingernail along Sherlock’s cheek. “Stop fucking the little writer girl and I’ll let her keep the ending.”

Sherlock sputtered out his denial, but Irene simply laughed. “You think that you’re so clever, Sherlock Holmes. But I’ve figured you out. You’re in love with the little mouse – James saw the two of you together.”

“Duchess, it’s really not what you think. She’s just a bit of fun on the side and sleeping with her keeps her satisfied and easy to work with,” Sherlock protested, the excuse sounding hollow even in his own ears.

Irene smirked. “I think it’s sweet, honestly. But…there’s a problem, Sherlock. You see--” her fingertip trailed down his neck and played with the collar of his shirt, “--when I signed that contract to back the Moulin Rouge, I essentially bought the theater…and the contracts of all its performers. I own you, Sherlock Holmes, and I don’t like other people playing with my things.” Her hand abandoned his neck and moved to the back of his head, pulling at his curls and exposing his neck to her.

Her smile was sharp and wicked. “So you’ll break it off with her, Sherlock. You either break her heart or I’ll have James over there arrange a little accident for her. He’s ever so good at them.” Sherlock’s attention turned to the small man in the corner, seemingly unassuming but with madness in his eyes. “You’re mine. And if you agree to be a very good boy and come to me on opening night, she can have her bohemian ending. But she can’t have you. Understood? Do we have an agreement?”

Sherlock swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yes, Duchess.” Suddenly, his vision became hazy and he felt like the room was spinning. The Duchess laughed and he looked at her accusingly. “What did you put in my drink?”

Irene waved one hand and ran her fingers through his hair with the other. It was almost an affectionate gesture and it made his stomach want to turn. “Oh, just a bit of fun, Sherlock. I wanted to make sure that you knew that I was serious. I’m glad that we came to an agreement before it kicked in though. Makes it easier.” She smiled wickedly at him, stroking his cheek with one finger. “You’ll be spending the night here, but don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you…we must save something for opening night!”

She shouted something to her men, but Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was. It felt like he was underwater, everything was muffled and blurry. The only thing that he found he could think about with any clarity at all was Molly and how disappointed she’d be when he didn’t come home to her.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, the Duchess was nowhere to be found, which he was grateful for. Instead, her man James stood next to him and handed him his hat, saying that “the Duchess sends her regards.”

He stumbled through the streets of Montmartre, making his way to Molly’s with a single-minded determination. He breathed a slight sigh of relief that he wasn’t waylaid by anyone as he made his way to the building and up to the third floor where Molly’s little flat was. Normally he just barged in, but he knew that today, that wouldn’t have been welcome.

So he knocked.

And then he knocked a bit louder.

After nothing but silence, he finally spoke. “Molly, please. I know you’re in there. Please let me in. I can explain.”

He heard shuffling from within the room and then the door opened just enough that he could see Molly’s face. “What?” she asked, her voice flat.

“Molly, let me in. Please.”

She sighed and opened the door wider, walking towards her bed. Sherlock entered the flat and then closed the door behind him, locking it quickly. She sat on the edge of her bed, focusing firmly on her slipper-clad feet rather than look at him. He made his way to her and kneeled in front of her. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you last night.”

Molly tried to shrug it off. “It’s fine, Sherlock. Like I said…I understand that the theater’s relationship with the Duchess is more important than anything. I’m sure you did what you had to do.” The quivering of her lips gave her away.

“I didn’t sleep with her, Molly. She drugged me to keep me there overnight.”

“What?” Her brave façade broke and Molly leaned forward, cupping Sherlock’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

He nodded and covered her hand with his. “I’m fine, Molly. But she knows about us…and she doesn’t like it.”

“Oh.” Molly deflated again, looking away from him. “I suppose you’re here to break things off then.”

The Sherlock of only a few short months ago would have said yes, without a doubt. The Sherlock of a few months ago wouldn’t even be in this situation, because that Sherlock believed that sentiment was a chemical defect, a weakness. But this Sherlock wasn’t that man. He leaned forward and cupped both of Molly’s cheeks, forcing her to look at him. “No. Molly…I love you. I won’t give you up just to appease her. We just have to be more careful than we have been.”

Molly’s eyes were wide with shock. “You…you love me?”

Sherlock nodded. “I do. You’ve ensnared me, Molly, and I have no desire to free myself.”

Her grin lit up the room. “You love me.” The grin dimmed somewhat as the second part of what he said sank in as well. “But we can’t let anyone know that we’re still together, or else the show’s in danger.”

Sherlock didn’t answer right away. Irene had never threatened the show…just her. But she didn’t need to know that. “That’s right. We’ll have to make it seem like we’ve separated. It’ll be difficult, but I think that we’re up to the challenge.”

Molly nodded and leaned forward, capturing Sherlock’s lips in a soft, brief kiss. “You know,” Sherlock murmured against her lips when they separated slightly, “it’s usually customary to make a reciprocating declaration, Molly.”

For a moment her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. “A reciprocating…oh.” She giggled and leaned forward for another kiss, her fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. “I love you too, Sherlock. Surely you knew that.”

He shrugged. “I did, but it’s nice to hear the affirmation.” He pushed her backwards so she was lying down on the bed and then stood and bent down, caging her beneath him. His nose trailed up her neck, his lips dropping little kisses on her soft skin. “Oh, this’ll be difficult, won’t it?” he murmured.

“Why?” she breathed, her fingers tangled in his hair once again.

“Because I want nothing more than to spend all day in bed with you, but I think that we should probably stage a loud, dramatic scene, signaling the end of our relationship.” Molly giggled underneath him, and he leaned back, watching her with a slight grin on his face.

“The greatest thing in the world would be to love and be loved in return,” she whispered, echoing her words from months ago when they were working on the show in his rooms and he asked her why she was so obsessed with love.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Apparently so.” Molly grinned and leaned up, kissing him slowly, drawing his body down and against hers. “Molly,” he muttered, the word muffled by her insistent lips. “Molly, we can’t.”

She relaxed back against the mattress, sighing. “Fine. Shall I start yelling then?”

Sherlock chuckled and nodded. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, but Sherlock put a finger to her lips at the last second. “I’ll come to you tonight, Molly. Leave your window open.”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced towards her window. “How are you…never mind. I’m sure you’ve already figured it all out in that massive brain of yours.” Pushing on his chest, she wiggled out from beneath him and sat up, pinching her cheeks and gazing up and opening her eyes wide until they started to water. “Ready for our row?”

He grinned at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Molly smiled back at him and mouthed ‘I love you,’ right before she started to yell. “YOU BASTARD. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!”


End file.
